Challenge 1: Elissa Cousland's Fantastical Fairytale
Challenge 1: Elissa Cousland's Fantastical Fairytale
Rating: K
Words: 2,650
Warnings: Rampant alliteration and some 4th wall breakage
Characters: Cousland, Dog, Shale, Alistair, Morrigan, Oghren, Zevran, Sten, Wynne, Leliana
Author's Note: I failed rather epically in selecting a single fairytale, so instead attempted to skewer as many as possible. And apologies to anyone who plays a Cousland!
Elissa Cousland gathered her skirts, legs pumping as she ran down the hill from her father’s house. It was a perfect spring day, the grass green, sky blue, the clouds a fluffy, glaring white. But tears streamed from the corners of her wide and thickly-lashed eyes, perfect lips pulled into a pitiable pout.
Flopping down on the hillside, she spread her skirts around her. As always, her faithful hound was at her side, wagging his tail expectantly.
“Oh, Mister Wibbleshanks! Whatever shall I do? Father and Fergus are going off to war and Father says that I can’t go! Just because I’m a plucky, young heroine I am doomed to be woefully misunderstood!” She slouched with a sigh, hands dropping into her lap.
The dog cocked its head with a whine.
“‘Why would I want to go to war?’ Oh, silly…” She giggled, bending to scratch him behind the ears. “Because it’s something a girl wouldn’t normally do. If I’m defiant, they’ll know I’m strong and I’ll - I’ll be a role model!”
Mister Wibbleshanks gave an excited bark.
“Plus…” She leaned close with a conspiratorial whisper. “… There are boys in wars. Maybe that’s where my prince is.” Coming to her feet, she clasped her hands before her with a wistful sigh. “And when I find him we can leave all that icky fighting and bloodshed behind, of course, and run away to live happily ever after!”
Mister Wibbleshanks - who preferred to be called Dog, if it’s all the same to you - hung his head, slinking behind her as she continued down the hill.
There was a bounce in Elissa’s step now, skirts twirling around her as she spun. The birds came out of nowhere, flocking from the trees in a dizzying array of colors, all chirping and twittering in perfect harmony. As she moved deeper into the trees, they tugged at her skirts and petticoats, holding them above the dirt and snagging brambles, still managing to sing with mouths full of silk.
When she came to the clearing, they were joined by squirrels and mice, raccoons and deer, all coming out to watch unafraid. Dog lay back his ears, bracing for attack, but there was no sign of any proper predator. One of the birds fluttered round to land on Elissa’s finger and she giggled.
As the song began, Dog lay down on his belly, burying his head beneath his paws. Not again.
But the tune was swelling, hopeful, the birds swooping to and fro as Elissa danced with her imaginary partner. It continued deeper into the forest as Dog padded begrudgingly behind, resolving to crescendo into a decidedly major chord.
The crash was unexpected, the strangled cry twittering once more before it was cut suddenly short. Elissa stumbled, the birds squawking as they scattered. Her eyes widened in horror.
“Oh no! Oh, Mister Sparrow!”
It turned with a rumbling sigh, eyes narrowing in a face of living rock.
Elissa gasped in wonder. “Why, you’re not a rock at all! I thought you were a rock! Part of the hill there! But you’re a-a…?”
Again, it sighed. “I am a golem.”
Remembering, Elissa bent to the sparrow. Or what had been a sparrow. Only the beak was recognizable. “You-you crushed him!” She stood, chin quivering as her fists balled at her sides. “You crushed Mister Sparrow!”
“It is welcome to thank me.”
“But he was my friend! The most beautiful singer in all the Magic Forest!”
Something in the golem’s face shifted, stone sliding crooked over its eyes. “And it made a most pleasant squishing sound.”
“But-but you don’t just interrupt a song like that!”
Those glowing eyes roamed lower, taking in Elissa’s tangled hair, the long white stains that her forest friends had left on her arms and shoulders. With a sneer of disgust, the golem turned away. “It is a strange creature.”
Only Dog remained as Elissa made her way deeper into the forest. The golem watched them go, rumbling when one of the brave but foolish birds returned to perch on its shoulder. With a flick of two stone fingers, it sent it crashing into a nearby tree.
Soon enough the underbrush thinned, dropping them onto a small and twisting path. But the trees were neatly cut, the way clear and lined with early blossoms. Elissa breathed deep.
“No. Oh, noo…”
She whirled at the sound, hands moving quick to straighten her hair and dress. It was a deep voice, a man’s voice, coming from just around the bend.
He crouched there, beside an old well, peering over the side. Young, broad of shoulder, golden-ish of hair… surely this was a prince! His face, too, was handsome and strong, if a bit marred but what seemed to be a perpetually pouting expression.
At her approach, he scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over the well’s discarded bucket. “Um. Hi.”
Elissa narrowed her eyes. “Where is your armor?”
“My… armor?”
Her fingers fluttered impatiently. “Oh, I see that-that thing you’re wearing. But it’s hardly shining is it?”
“Hey. Hey! There’s nothing wrong with splintmail!”
“And where is your horse?”
“My…?” He flushed, running a hand sheepishly through his hair. “… It’s, err, in the well actually.”
“Your horse is in the well?”
He shrugged.
Elissa moved to the edge, hands bracing against the old stones as she peered into the darkness. They slid suddenly, toppling her into the hole in a screeching flurry of petticoats and flailing feet. Fortunately, it was not deep and she landed with a splash in surprisingly clean and pleasantly tepid water.
“Um… prince?”
The face peering over the hole seemed to wince. “Alistair. My name is Alistair.”
“Be a dear and toss down the bucket, Alistair?”
After a moment, the rope was tossed over, bucket hitting her square in the head.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, sorry!”
“Just pull me up.”
He did so with a great many heaves and grunts, eventually wrapping a hand round her elbow to pull her over the side. “Wow. You’re pretty heavy.”
Elissa gasped in horror, slugging him in the arm. “I’m wet. You know… petticoats.”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. Had to wear them once and dance the-” Alistair blushed, turning quickly away. “Nothing. Lost a bet. Nevermind.”
Elissa shifted, bending to retrieve an awkward bulge that seemed to have become tangled in her skirts. Tugging it free, she saw that it was a tiny, wooden horse.
“Oh, hey! You found it!”
“This is your horse?”
Alistair snatched it from her with a defensive glare.”
“It’s a doll.”
“Figurine. Action figurine.”
“You are a strange prince.”
He groaned. “Please stop saying that.”
“But I shall accompany you nonetheless.”
“‘Accompany me?’ Where?”
“There’s a path. We should follow it.”
“Path through a spooky, old forest? Riiiight… that’s going to end well.”
He fell into step beside her as she forged ahead, Dog trailing behind. Alistair glanced down at her, quirking a brow as he gestured to her dress. “Is that bird-?”
“-Shut up.”
Rounding the bend, Elissa gasped, clapping her hands before her. The grove stretched away to one side of the path, trees and bushes covered with ripe and brightly-colored fruit. Dashing to the low wooden fence, she boosted herself up, swinging one leg over the side.
“Hey! Hey, trespassing!”
She smirked, turning back to Alistair. “It’s called mischief.” With a laugh, she dropped over the side.
“Great.”
He had no choice but to join her, Dog wriggling under the fence. The trees opened soon enough, coming to a clearing surrounded by a low ring of bushes. There was a picnic table here, the basket of apples in its center filled to bursting.
“Ooh! Apples.”
“Alistair, don’t!”
Her hand grabbed for his, eyes suddenly serious. “Don’t you know about apples?”
He blinked.
“Apples. Witches love them. These’ll be poisoned for sure.”
He quirked a dubious brow. “Witches?”
“You know. Old, ugly, haggard creatures. All warty and green-skinned and hunch-backed and-”
“-Are you a scholar, I wonder?” The woman rose from behind the bushes, lean and sneering and scantily clad. “A practitioner of magic yourself? To have such knowledge of the ways of witches…”
Elissa stepped back. “We only wanted some apples.”
“Scavengers, then. Those apples do not belong to you.”
“Are they… yours?”
“‘Twas I who picked them, yes.”
“But-but you’re not a witch.”
The woman arched a delicate brow.
Alistair leaned close. “Definitely creepy… but I thought you said all witches were ugly. She’s… well, she’s kind of-”
“-Avert your eyes.”
“Mean. Kind of really mean.”
Elissa shook her head. “Witch or not, you should come with us.”
“What?! Why?”
“I think… well, because she’s supposed to.”
The woman sneered. “‘Tis a matter of fate then?”
“Genre convention, more like.”
Her eyes snapped to Alistair. “What?”
He shrugged, mumbling still. “Nothing.”
“Very well, I shall join you. And I am called Morrigan, if you would ever care to ask.”
Elissa nodded, turning back toward the path. “Good.”
Alistair, though, lingered near the table. “Could I… erm, could I have an apple?”
The women turned to him with twin glares. “No!”
“Maker’s breath…” He slipped over the fence with Dog at his heels.
The four of them had not gone far before Elissa heard the song. She wrinkled her nose. It certainly was not beautiful, thick and gruff and punctuated occasionally by some decidedly improper bodily noises. As they rounded the bend she saw him, kicking his legs as he rocked back and forth on a log beside the path.
“What a funny little man.”
Wrinkled and watery eyes snapped up at that, one thick and hairy arm wiping the slobber from his beard. “Heh. Who you callin’ little?”
Elissa crouched beside him, showing her bravery in the face of such a stench. “Do you grant wishes?”
“Eh? Wishes?”
“I have heard that of little folk.”
The man came staggering to his feet, teetering a bit as he supposed himself on the log. “That’s-that’s a… whatsitcalled…”
“And your pot of gold? Where is it?”
“Eh? That’s leprechauns.”
“But you do live under a bridge, right?”
“By the Stone, woman! I’m not a troll!” He sighed, snorting as he bent to spit. “I’m a dwarf! Haven’t ya ever heard of dwarves?”
Standing, Elissa shook her head.
“Heh. Yer loss then.” Sinking back against the log, he took a long pull from his flask, spilling most of it into his beard. “Bloody nug-humpers.”
“Um… dwarf? We are on a journey, of sorts. Perhaps we could use a… dwarf.”
“Certainly.” Morrigan scowled. “Perhaps we could use the stench to ward off whatever beasts lurk ahead.”
“Or attract them.” Alistair shook his head. “So we’re just collecting castoffs now?”
Beaming, Elissa lay a hand on his arm. “Of course! What else would we do?” She skipped ahead in a whirl of skirts, leaving them to follow behind.
Alistair counted the steps, watching the trail ahead. Soon he began to mutter under his breath. “Three… two… one…”
“Ahahaha!” The man leapt into the path, brandishing a glittering sword as he threw his cloak aside. There was a wicked grin there, his long, golden hair blowing in the sudden breeze.
“Eep!” Elissa threw her hands in front of her mouth, falling against Alistair’s arm. “We are ambushed!”
“Riiight…”
The sword shifted, leveled now at Alistair’s throat. “I would not be so complacent, my friend.”
“Alistair…” She tugged at his sleeve. “Defend me!”
Looking to Morrigan and the dwarf, he shrugged. “A little help?”
Elissa, though, folded her arms. “No. It should be a duel.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
But her glare was set.
With a sigh, Alistair unsheathed his sword, tensing as the other man dropped into a flourishing bow.
“En garde!”
“Right. What do you want, anyway?”
He straightened, for the moment perplexed. “I… I do not know. But I am a dashing rogue. What else would I do but set upon unsuspecting passersby?”
Elissa nodded. “See?”
“You could… eh… I can’t believe I’m saying this…” Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. “You could come with us. On this… quest thing.”
“Oh ho! A quest? Marvelous!” With a grin, he sheathed his blade. “I am Zevran. Zev, to my friends.” Again he bowed, laying a kiss on the back of Elissa’s hand. “And you would be…?”
“Elissa.” She giggled, blinking down at him. “Why are your ears all pointy?”
“That, my dear, is because I am an elf.”
“Really?” Her eyes went wide. “Then I want a pair of Orlesian dancing shoes, a new bow, that pony that Father said I couldn’t have…”
Throwing back his head, Zevran laughed. “I am afraid you have the wrong sort of elf.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you at least make cookies? Live in a tree?”
“Alas, no.”
Elissa folded her arms, pursing pouting lips. Zevran turned a wondering eye to Alistair.
“Yeah. Join the club.”
As the elf fell into step behind them, the trees began to thin. The forest, it seemed, was ending, the hill overlooking the town nestled below. It was at the edge of the trees that they heard the groan.
The most massive man that Elissa had ever seen rested beside the path with his back against a tree. He cradled one of his legs across the other, wincing in pain. At her approach, his eyes snapped up, narrowing as he growled.
She held up a palm, approaching slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The man’s lips twitched. “No. You will not.”
“Are you injured? Let me see.”
He grumbled as she knelt beside him, but did not pull away.
“Oh, see. There’s a thorn in your foot.” She grinned. “I’ll pull it out and we’ll be best friends.”
“Pashaara leave me be.”
“Do you want it out or not?”
The man sighed, turning his eyes away. “Yes.”
Elissa bent low, pinching and plucking and pulling. She spent some time at it, but the man barely winced.
“Oh no! I can’t get it out!”
“Nor could I.”
“But then how will we become unlikely friends?”
The man had opened his mouth to speak, but there were footsteps coming up the path now, the slow rhythm of a whispered walking song. Cresting the hill, the old woman’s eyes lit on them, setting her basket aside as she bent beside Elissa.
Pushing her hands aside, she clucked her tongue. “The injury is not too severe. Give me a moment.” Her fingers fluttered there, producing a softly sparkling light. After a moment, the thorn slipped free.
“You have my thanks.”
Elissa, though, was watching the woman with rapt attention. “Was that magic?”
“Perhaps.” Her smile was thin-lipped, knowing.
“It’s because you’re old isn’t it? That makes you wise.”
The woman arched a brow.
Elissa though, was grinning again. “Are you… are you my fairy godmother?”
“Do you see wings, child?”
“No. But you could be… in disguise. Watching over me.”
The woman straightened, eyes darting up the path as she collected her things. “Excuse me.”
Elissa watched her go a moment before shrugging and turning to the village below. “C’mon.”
The square was almost empty when they arrived, save for a small group of children gathered round a woman sitting on a upturned crate. She had an instrument cross her lap, leaning low to sing her song. Though a woman grown, Elissa’s expression was as rapt as those of the children sitting in the dirt. She plopped down in front of them, waving for the bard’s attention.
“Let’s have a story!”
The woman’s lips pursed beneath a bemused smile. “And what sort of story shall we have? The tale of Aveline, perhaps? The woman who fought disguised as a man?”
Elissa wrinkled her nose. “Does it start with ‘once upon a time’?”
“No, it does not. But it is very beautiful and-”
“-One upon a time! We want once upon a time!”
With a sigh, the bard took up her instrument. “Once upon a time…”
Hope it's ok if I finish tagging when I get home! Posting from my phone and it can't fit all the characters!
Rating: K
Words: 2,650
Warnings: Rampant alliteration and some 4th wall breakage
Characters: Cousland, Dog, Shale, Alistair, Morrigan, Oghren, Zevran, Sten, Wynne, Leliana
Author's Note: I failed rather epically in selecting a single fairytale, so instead attempted to skewer as many as possible. And apologies to anyone who plays a Cousland!
Elissa Cousland gathered her skirts, legs pumping as she ran down the hill from her father’s house. It was a perfect spring day, the grass green, sky blue, the clouds a fluffy, glaring white. But tears streamed from the corners of her wide and thickly-lashed eyes, perfect lips pulled into a pitiable pout.
Flopping down on the hillside, she spread her skirts around her. As always, her faithful hound was at her side, wagging his tail expectantly.
“Oh, Mister Wibbleshanks! Whatever shall I do? Father and Fergus are going off to war and Father says that I can’t go! Just because I’m a plucky, young heroine I am doomed to be woefully misunderstood!” She slouched with a sigh, hands dropping into her lap.
The dog cocked its head with a whine.
“‘Why would I want to go to war?’ Oh, silly…” She giggled, bending to scratch him behind the ears. “Because it’s something a girl wouldn’t normally do. If I’m defiant, they’ll know I’m strong and I’ll - I’ll be a role model!”
Mister Wibbleshanks gave an excited bark.
“Plus…” She leaned close with a conspiratorial whisper. “… There are boys in wars. Maybe that’s where my prince is.” Coming to her feet, she clasped her hands before her with a wistful sigh. “And when I find him we can leave all that icky fighting and bloodshed behind, of course, and run away to live happily ever after!”
Mister Wibbleshanks - who preferred to be called Dog, if it’s all the same to you - hung his head, slinking behind her as she continued down the hill.
There was a bounce in Elissa’s step now, skirts twirling around her as she spun. The birds came out of nowhere, flocking from the trees in a dizzying array of colors, all chirping and twittering in perfect harmony. As she moved deeper into the trees, they tugged at her skirts and petticoats, holding them above the dirt and snagging brambles, still managing to sing with mouths full of silk.
When she came to the clearing, they were joined by squirrels and mice, raccoons and deer, all coming out to watch unafraid. Dog lay back his ears, bracing for attack, but there was no sign of any proper predator. One of the birds fluttered round to land on Elissa’s finger and she giggled.
As the song began, Dog lay down on his belly, burying his head beneath his paws. Not again.
But the tune was swelling, hopeful, the birds swooping to and fro as Elissa danced with her imaginary partner. It continued deeper into the forest as Dog padded begrudgingly behind, resolving to crescendo into a decidedly major chord.
The crash was unexpected, the strangled cry twittering once more before it was cut suddenly short. Elissa stumbled, the birds squawking as they scattered. Her eyes widened in horror.
“Oh no! Oh, Mister Sparrow!”
It turned with a rumbling sigh, eyes narrowing in a face of living rock.
Elissa gasped in wonder. “Why, you’re not a rock at all! I thought you were a rock! Part of the hill there! But you’re a-a…?”
Again, it sighed. “I am a golem.”
Remembering, Elissa bent to the sparrow. Or what had been a sparrow. Only the beak was recognizable. “You-you crushed him!” She stood, chin quivering as her fists balled at her sides. “You crushed Mister Sparrow!”
“It is welcome to thank me.”
“But he was my friend! The most beautiful singer in all the Magic Forest!”
Something in the golem’s face shifted, stone sliding crooked over its eyes. “And it made a most pleasant squishing sound.”
“But-but you don’t just interrupt a song like that!”
Those glowing eyes roamed lower, taking in Elissa’s tangled hair, the long white stains that her forest friends had left on her arms and shoulders. With a sneer of disgust, the golem turned away. “It is a strange creature.”
Only Dog remained as Elissa made her way deeper into the forest. The golem watched them go, rumbling when one of the brave but foolish birds returned to perch on its shoulder. With a flick of two stone fingers, it sent it crashing into a nearby tree.
Soon enough the underbrush thinned, dropping them onto a small and twisting path. But the trees were neatly cut, the way clear and lined with early blossoms. Elissa breathed deep.
“No. Oh, noo…”
She whirled at the sound, hands moving quick to straighten her hair and dress. It was a deep voice, a man’s voice, coming from just around the bend.
He crouched there, beside an old well, peering over the side. Young, broad of shoulder, golden-ish of hair… surely this was a prince! His face, too, was handsome and strong, if a bit marred but what seemed to be a perpetually pouting expression.
At her approach, he scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over the well’s discarded bucket. “Um. Hi.”
Elissa narrowed her eyes. “Where is your armor?”
“My… armor?”
Her fingers fluttered impatiently. “Oh, I see that-that thing you’re wearing. But it’s hardly shining is it?”
“Hey. Hey! There’s nothing wrong with splintmail!”
“And where is your horse?”
“My…?” He flushed, running a hand sheepishly through his hair. “… It’s, err, in the well actually.”
“Your horse is in the well?”
He shrugged.
Elissa moved to the edge, hands bracing against the old stones as she peered into the darkness. They slid suddenly, toppling her into the hole in a screeching flurry of petticoats and flailing feet. Fortunately, it was not deep and she landed with a splash in surprisingly clean and pleasantly tepid water.
“Um… prince?”
The face peering over the hole seemed to wince. “Alistair. My name is Alistair.”
“Be a dear and toss down the bucket, Alistair?”
After a moment, the rope was tossed over, bucket hitting her square in the head.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, sorry!”
“Just pull me up.”
He did so with a great many heaves and grunts, eventually wrapping a hand round her elbow to pull her over the side. “Wow. You’re pretty heavy.”
Elissa gasped in horror, slugging him in the arm. “I’m wet. You know… petticoats.”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. Had to wear them once and dance the-” Alistair blushed, turning quickly away. “Nothing. Lost a bet. Nevermind.”
Elissa shifted, bending to retrieve an awkward bulge that seemed to have become tangled in her skirts. Tugging it free, she saw that it was a tiny, wooden horse.
“Oh, hey! You found it!”
“This is your horse?”
Alistair snatched it from her with a defensive glare.”
“It’s a doll.”
“Figurine. Action figurine.”
“You are a strange prince.”
He groaned. “Please stop saying that.”
“But I shall accompany you nonetheless.”
“‘Accompany me?’ Where?”
“There’s a path. We should follow it.”
“Path through a spooky, old forest? Riiiight… that’s going to end well.”
He fell into step beside her as she forged ahead, Dog trailing behind. Alistair glanced down at her, quirking a brow as he gestured to her dress. “Is that bird-?”
“-Shut up.”
Rounding the bend, Elissa gasped, clapping her hands before her. The grove stretched away to one side of the path, trees and bushes covered with ripe and brightly-colored fruit. Dashing to the low wooden fence, she boosted herself up, swinging one leg over the side.
“Hey! Hey, trespassing!”
She smirked, turning back to Alistair. “It’s called mischief.” With a laugh, she dropped over the side.
“Great.”
He had no choice but to join her, Dog wriggling under the fence. The trees opened soon enough, coming to a clearing surrounded by a low ring of bushes. There was a picnic table here, the basket of apples in its center filled to bursting.
“Ooh! Apples.”
“Alistair, don’t!”
Her hand grabbed for his, eyes suddenly serious. “Don’t you know about apples?”
He blinked.
“Apples. Witches love them. These’ll be poisoned for sure.”
He quirked a dubious brow. “Witches?”
“You know. Old, ugly, haggard creatures. All warty and green-skinned and hunch-backed and-”
“-Are you a scholar, I wonder?” The woman rose from behind the bushes, lean and sneering and scantily clad. “A practitioner of magic yourself? To have such knowledge of the ways of witches…”
Elissa stepped back. “We only wanted some apples.”
“Scavengers, then. Those apples do not belong to you.”
“Are they… yours?”
“‘Twas I who picked them, yes.”
“But-but you’re not a witch.”
The woman arched a delicate brow.
Alistair leaned close. “Definitely creepy… but I thought you said all witches were ugly. She’s… well, she’s kind of-”
“-Avert your eyes.”
“Mean. Kind of really mean.”
Elissa shook her head. “Witch or not, you should come with us.”
“What?! Why?”
“I think… well, because she’s supposed to.”
The woman sneered. “‘Tis a matter of fate then?”
“Genre convention, more like.”
Her eyes snapped to Alistair. “What?”
He shrugged, mumbling still. “Nothing.”
“Very well, I shall join you. And I am called Morrigan, if you would ever care to ask.”
Elissa nodded, turning back toward the path. “Good.”
Alistair, though, lingered near the table. “Could I… erm, could I have an apple?”
The women turned to him with twin glares. “No!”
“Maker’s breath…” He slipped over the fence with Dog at his heels.
The four of them had not gone far before Elissa heard the song. She wrinkled her nose. It certainly was not beautiful, thick and gruff and punctuated occasionally by some decidedly improper bodily noises. As they rounded the bend she saw him, kicking his legs as he rocked back and forth on a log beside the path.
“What a funny little man.”
Wrinkled and watery eyes snapped up at that, one thick and hairy arm wiping the slobber from his beard. “Heh. Who you callin’ little?”
Elissa crouched beside him, showing her bravery in the face of such a stench. “Do you grant wishes?”
“Eh? Wishes?”
“I have heard that of little folk.”
The man came staggering to his feet, teetering a bit as he supposed himself on the log. “That’s-that’s a… whatsitcalled…”
“And your pot of gold? Where is it?”
“Eh? That’s leprechauns.”
“But you do live under a bridge, right?”
“By the Stone, woman! I’m not a troll!” He sighed, snorting as he bent to spit. “I’m a dwarf! Haven’t ya ever heard of dwarves?”
Standing, Elissa shook her head.
“Heh. Yer loss then.” Sinking back against the log, he took a long pull from his flask, spilling most of it into his beard. “Bloody nug-humpers.”
“Um… dwarf? We are on a journey, of sorts. Perhaps we could use a… dwarf.”
“Certainly.” Morrigan scowled. “Perhaps we could use the stench to ward off whatever beasts lurk ahead.”
“Or attract them.” Alistair shook his head. “So we’re just collecting castoffs now?”
Beaming, Elissa lay a hand on his arm. “Of course! What else would we do?” She skipped ahead in a whirl of skirts, leaving them to follow behind.
Alistair counted the steps, watching the trail ahead. Soon he began to mutter under his breath. “Three… two… one…”
“Ahahaha!” The man leapt into the path, brandishing a glittering sword as he threw his cloak aside. There was a wicked grin there, his long, golden hair blowing in the sudden breeze.
“Eep!” Elissa threw her hands in front of her mouth, falling against Alistair’s arm. “We are ambushed!”
“Riiight…”
The sword shifted, leveled now at Alistair’s throat. “I would not be so complacent, my friend.”
“Alistair…” She tugged at his sleeve. “Defend me!”
Looking to Morrigan and the dwarf, he shrugged. “A little help?”
Elissa, though, folded her arms. “No. It should be a duel.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
But her glare was set.
With a sigh, Alistair unsheathed his sword, tensing as the other man dropped into a flourishing bow.
“En garde!”
“Right. What do you want, anyway?”
He straightened, for the moment perplexed. “I… I do not know. But I am a dashing rogue. What else would I do but set upon unsuspecting passersby?”
Elissa nodded. “See?”
“You could… eh… I can’t believe I’m saying this…” Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. “You could come with us. On this… quest thing.”
“Oh ho! A quest? Marvelous!” With a grin, he sheathed his blade. “I am Zevran. Zev, to my friends.” Again he bowed, laying a kiss on the back of Elissa’s hand. “And you would be…?”
“Elissa.” She giggled, blinking down at him. “Why are your ears all pointy?”
“That, my dear, is because I am an elf.”
“Really?” Her eyes went wide. “Then I want a pair of Orlesian dancing shoes, a new bow, that pony that Father said I couldn’t have…”
Throwing back his head, Zevran laughed. “I am afraid you have the wrong sort of elf.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you at least make cookies? Live in a tree?”
“Alas, no.”
Elissa folded her arms, pursing pouting lips. Zevran turned a wondering eye to Alistair.
“Yeah. Join the club.”
As the elf fell into step behind them, the trees began to thin. The forest, it seemed, was ending, the hill overlooking the town nestled below. It was at the edge of the trees that they heard the groan.
The most massive man that Elissa had ever seen rested beside the path with his back against a tree. He cradled one of his legs across the other, wincing in pain. At her approach, his eyes snapped up, narrowing as he growled.
She held up a palm, approaching slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The man’s lips twitched. “No. You will not.”
“Are you injured? Let me see.”
He grumbled as she knelt beside him, but did not pull away.
“Oh, see. There’s a thorn in your foot.” She grinned. “I’ll pull it out and we’ll be best friends.”
“Pashaara leave me be.”
“Do you want it out or not?”
The man sighed, turning his eyes away. “Yes.”
Elissa bent low, pinching and plucking and pulling. She spent some time at it, but the man barely winced.
“Oh no! I can’t get it out!”
“Nor could I.”
“But then how will we become unlikely friends?”
The man had opened his mouth to speak, but there were footsteps coming up the path now, the slow rhythm of a whispered walking song. Cresting the hill, the old woman’s eyes lit on them, setting her basket aside as she bent beside Elissa.
Pushing her hands aside, she clucked her tongue. “The injury is not too severe. Give me a moment.” Her fingers fluttered there, producing a softly sparkling light. After a moment, the thorn slipped free.
“You have my thanks.”
Elissa, though, was watching the woman with rapt attention. “Was that magic?”
“Perhaps.” Her smile was thin-lipped, knowing.
“It’s because you’re old isn’t it? That makes you wise.”
The woman arched a brow.
Elissa though, was grinning again. “Are you… are you my fairy godmother?”
“Do you see wings, child?”
“No. But you could be… in disguise. Watching over me.”
The woman straightened, eyes darting up the path as she collected her things. “Excuse me.”
Elissa watched her go a moment before shrugging and turning to the village below. “C’mon.”
The square was almost empty when they arrived, save for a small group of children gathered round a woman sitting on a upturned crate. She had an instrument cross her lap, leaning low to sing her song. Though a woman grown, Elissa’s expression was as rapt as those of the children sitting in the dirt. She plopped down in front of them, waving for the bard’s attention.
“Let’s have a story!”
The woman’s lips pursed beneath a bemused smile. “And what sort of story shall we have? The tale of Aveline, perhaps? The woman who fought disguised as a man?”
Elissa wrinkled her nose. “Does it start with ‘once upon a time’?”
“No, it does not. But it is very beautiful and-”
“-One upon a time! We want once upon a time!”
With a sigh, the bard took up her instrument. “Once upon a time…”
Hope it's ok if I finish tagging when I get home! Posting from my phone and it can't fit all the characters!